Decembers

Everything felt monotonous. Every step, every breath, every creak of the cherry-wood floorboards. Devian collapsed onto his bed with force, exerting it over the furniture that had no choice in the matter. It groaned in protest, stretching out the syllables, making its own retort. Anything was better than this deafening silence. It was screaming out, curdling his blood. Devian felt like clawing at his skin but avoided it, attempting to spare himself some dignity although he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

Devian buried his face under his pillow, shivering a little as he lied on top of his bedspread in clothing dampened by the snow. His skin trembled but obviously he was far from in the mood to care about this blot of added negativity bestowed upon his life on this very, not-so-merry day. For relevance with water, he felt like he was drowning in the ocean, being pushed and pulled by the waves. Devian sighed and groaned, not making anything any better for himself which is all too typical of mankind. He’d never felt more cliche in his entire existance. Today was filled with firsts and lasts. Devian gulped.

Obviously, he needed to come to terms with the fact that life always goes on, similar to a carousel. The gears keep turning, most of the horses and various animals keep moving up and down with rhythm but occasionally stop to be rid of the old and bring in the new- new giggles, new faces, new people. Devian did not want to become one of the still, unmoving creatures that were mostly everyone’s last resort.

Devian just continued lying there, not attempting to sleep or anything- he was trying so hard to be mentally numb for a little while and it just wasn’t happening. Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! This was an abomination! With so much pent-up anger and despair, and now frustration, Devian was pulsating with an unexplainable feeling. His hands tightened to the point where it appeared that he was going to pop a vein and douse himself in crimson and smear the fluid all over everything- a self-inflicted massacre of sorts. The bedspread would represent a cherry-drizzled marshmallow.

After awhile, the inactivity drove Devain into getting up and deciding that he needed to go out and do something as opposed to staying on his bed drowning in his sorrows, although the bed represented more of a raft than icy waves in late December. In times like this, in a mind-set like this, Devian’s control is abolished, configuring him into a boy who lacks in knowledge of how to keep his head above the water.

Devian lurched off of his life-raft and into frigid waters, moving in haste toward the stairs and onto shore outside the door. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t care where he was going, trudged through the snow. His brain was filled with saltwater. It burned, singed, made his fingers want to find the irritation and claw it out. That scent was still all around Devian, also. There was enough snow to drown.

It was definitely something to contemplate, to lie down on the sidewalk and slowly die of the cold. Devian found some hidden power and pushed this thought off, continuing to make his way through the little demons that were gnawing at his flesh and heart. However, he did know where his feet were going. His feet knew this pavement so well, regardless of the covering that was like a faux carpet, considering it appears and reappears year after year.

By now, it had to be around noontime. Cars were slowly rolling and crunching over the snowy road, drivers silently cursing due to the lack of plowing. Time, time, time- nobody has any time, any patience. Go, go, go- don’t wait. Don’t pause. Don’t stop to take a breath. Air is for the weak. Burning lungs are adequate. Go.

Devian simply sighed and continued on his way. He was displeased by how this time around he felt the stinging cold, as opposed to his oblivious state of mind earlier. The longer he kept walking, the farther away wherever he was going was. It was a bit frustrating but tolerable, somewhat. Devian’s mind was a mile ahead of his feet. Simply stated, he was elsewhere- a personalized version of astral projection.

His mind came to an abrupt halt and a smile drew across Devian’s face- slowly like an etch-a-sketch. When Devian smiled, his lips curled upward and his cheek bones were very prominant. It was asight that, although beautiful, could become a rare sight. No flash-photography will be condoned.

 The familiar scent of coffee nearly punched Devian's lights out as he pulled open his destination's door. The bell sounded above his head and the floor squeaked under his moistened shoes.

"I just cleaned that floor." Bailey's voice appeared distant. He stepped out of a storage room with the chocolate pieces used for Javachip Frappuchinnos. "Why'd you decide to come back?"

 "Pushy, pushy. Didn't they teach you better when they trained you to work here? Greet customers with a kind word and a smile."

"Oh, fuck you. At least I have the courtesy to say goodbye." His voice went fron bitter to a whisper like a line of gradient text. The hurt appeared to be underlined, bolded, italicized and in a vibrant color. Perhaps it was red, like Bailey's cheeks sported.

"Really?"

"Really what?"

"For me being a guy you just met, you sounded so upset- like I was a long-term lover churning your heart and sucking your blood out of your body with a bendy-straw."

"I wouldn't know what that feels like."

"I'd assume that few do."

"Are you bleeding, Devian?"

"Of course. I'm dripping directly onto your nice, freshly-cleaned floor. Love always come with a price."

"How much are we talking?"

"More than you can ever think of until it happens."

"Like the start of winter in December?"

"Yes. Much like December."

"I love the snow."

"You never know how much it's going to fall, or the outcome. Or how cold you'll be when you awake in bitter air."

"I'm used to the chill."

"I've experienced my fair-share of relentless December. You never get used to the cold."